


Stardust

by MoonSpoon



Category: Lackadaisy (Webcomic)
Genre: Drunken Banter, Flirting, M/M, Maybe a little out of character, No Plot/Plotless, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonSpoon/pseuds/MoonSpoon
Summary: The band is drunk. Zib sings. Dom observes.
Relationships: Dom Drago/Dorian "Zib" Zibowski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Stardust

**Author's Note:**

> banking on zib being drunk to hide how bad their banter is this round (to be fair I'm a bit drunk myself fellas so peace out)

So, this was all that remained of the Lackadaisy, Dom thought as he traced a finger absently over the rim of his glass. Large, luxurious, halls that smelled of dust and gin with only a handful of patrons wandering aimlessly about. He was rather certain that they all worked here, which then made him the only patron. He didn’t even like to drink. 

He didn’t like to drink, and he had work he should have been doing rather than wandering around town at night. Yet here he sat, trying very hard not to stare too much at the band, which was becoming more and more difficult as the night went on. They were barely playing. The pianist was the only member making a consistent effort to maintain the ambiance of the room. He was a talented player. The notes seemed to almost melt together pleasantly as he played. Dom truly could have lost himself in just the atmosphere alone if the occasional ripple of drunk laughter didn’t keep interrupting. 

Dorian Zibowski had put the saxophone down almost an hour ago when he’d gotten too drunk to hold it and the bass player had to take it off him. One by one the band had succumbed to the warm buzz the alcohol had provided until none of them dared to stay upright. One by one the instruments were carefully put away and replaced by full glasses and slurred voices that carried through the empty hall. One by one they fell into a pile together, the emptiness of the hall providing a strange privacy for them to relax as more than just colleagues. Zib was laughing, a sound Dom didn’t think he was capable of. It had required a lot of drinking to get him to break that sarcastic air he loved to stew in. Now he was just.... ridiculous. 

Zib had given up trying to stand independently and sat on the floor, head tilted back against the piano bench as he chattered. The occasional grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he spoke, never fully spreading, but teasing at the idea just enough to keep Dom’s attention. His laugh was lazy and smooth, and when he looked at his bandmates, there was a rare affection that clearly didn’t come out very often. Already the others were teasing him for it. And he was too drunk to properly answer back with the wit he and Dom usually battled with. 

Finally, the pianist took a break, flexing his fingers and reaching for the flask that Zib was holding. 

“Hey.” Zib slurred, holding the flask out of reach. “Play Star Dust.” 

“Excuse you, play Star Dust- what?” The pianist asked. The band chuckled. 

Zib rolled his eyes with his entire head. “Play Star Dust, please.” 

“No.” 

The rest of the band laughed. Dom couldn’t help but smirk softly to himself as Zib’s ears flattened in annoyance and he scowled. The pianist managed to finally snatch the flask away, taking a few sips before grimacing and handing it back. 

“You wanna sing?” he asked, disregarding his own refusal. 

“No.” Zib said. 

“Yeah, you do!” the bassist called out, much louder than he needed to in an empty hall. His shout was cut short when the trumpet player smacked him with his hat. “You always wanna sing.” 

“Not gonna. Mozzie’s been a bastard and ruined it.” Zib took another swig of whatever was in the flask. “I’m very sensitive.” 

“You’re a diva” Mozzie said, fingers plucking at the keys as he tried to find the opening notes. “Come on, sing for us. I’m tired of hearing Ben’s jokes.” 

The bassist snorted so loudly it sent everyone but Mozzie into a brief fit of laughter. 

It occurred to Dom as he watched Zib stagger to his feet, that he never knew Zib could sing. The idea of hearing him almost seemed to be....an intrusion of sorts. He frowned, lifting his drink and taking a small sip before remembering he didn’t like drinking. 

The first few notes sauntered through the air. Zib shook his head as if to clear it. He nodded along to the piano, the smallest hint of a smile playing at his lips. The others hand gone quiet, even the loud bassist with too many jokes had closed his mouth and eyes and sat very still as Zib hummed the first part. Dom couldn’t tell if he couldn’t remember the words or was too drunk to form them. A trace of warm vibrato shimmered beneath his wordlessness. Something in Dom’s chest fluttered strangely. 

“What am I singing again?” Zib suddenly asked. 

“Star Dust, you idiot.” Mozzie reminded him. 

Zib picked up the words as though he’d never lost them, and Dom’s world came to a slow halt. The first few lines about lonely nights hit Dom like a stone. The whiskey that had thickened Zib’s voice before melted away as a strange sweetness took over. He swayed comfortably to the trill of the piano; eyes closed as the ghostly music echoed through the empty cavern. Standing on that messy stage, clothes rumpled and barely able to stand, let alone speak, Zib was making more sense than Dom had heard in a very long time. 

There was a longing in his voice meant for someone no longer his, and when he lingered on notes, he would trail into a softness that made them disappear into thin air. He sang about bright stars and nightingales, where roses once grew, and the memories of stars. Dom realized he’d forgotten to put his drink back down and he’d been awkwardly holding it in a half toast almost for much of the song. Mozzie’s fingers trailed over the piano keys, barely touching them. It was impossible to tell who was following whom as the music filled the hall. But it was beautiful. 

Zib’s voice finally trailed to a lazy stop, the last vibrations of the song sending shivers down Dom’s spine. The piano came to a stop a little afterwards. Zib pulled out his flask again and took another sip. Then he brought the atmosphere to a plummet by saying. 

“I’m gonna go be sick now.” 

“That’s nice.” Ben mumbled. 

“Have fun.” Mozzie said. 

The piano was closed. Ben threw his arm over his eyes and went to sleep in what had to have been some sort of record. Zib turned to make a joke and fell off the stage. 

Dom barely recovered enough to follow him outside to make sure he wasn’t hurt. 

\-- 

The night air was surprisingly chilly for Louisiana, and Zib wasn’t throwing up like he’d planned. He was sitting on the alley floor, knees drawn up as he drank from that flask that never seemed to be empty. Dom joined him silently. 

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. The wind blew through his fur, and Dom wished he could offer Zib a coat or something, but he’d left his inside. 

“You following me?” Zib fell back against the wall, pulling out the silver flask and taking a swig to wash the taste away before offering it to Dom. 

“Not tonight, I wasn’t.” Dom answered. He joined the musician on the ground, taking the flask but not drinking. Just from the smell alone he knew it was strong enough to stagger him. “Just indulging a curiosity is all.” 

“Thought you had bigger fish to fry. You don’t strike me as the curious type.” 

“I can be. If the subject is appealing enough.” 

“Is it?” 

For a moment, Dom tripped up. He knew they were no longer discussing his presence beneath the Little Daisy Café, and that frustrated him. He’d always been good at keeping his intentions unclear, but he’d been lazy tonight. And even someone as drunk as Dorian Zibowski could tell. Scrutiny did not sit well on him, he shrugged it off and instead tried to find something else they could quip over. Thankfully, Zib beat him to it. 

“So.” Zib leaned over to try and grab his flask back. Dom gently pushed him back and held it out of reach. “Being as obviously bent as I am, what sort of repercussions should the café face?” 

“Well, considering I’m not a cop, and you drank the evidence once again, I’m going to go with none. I’ll even forget I saw you fall off the stage if you stop trying to climb on me.” 

“What’s left of my ego can handle it. I’ve fallen off worse.” 

Dom pocked the flask, and easily captured Zib’s wrists to stop his pawing. “Hmm. How many more falls is it going to take to knock some sense back into you?” 

Zib squirmed and pulled free, raising an eyebrow in what wasn't total annoyance. “Why you always gotta be so damn witty?” 

Dom shrugged. “I’m afraid it's become a prerequisite for our little talks at this point." 

Zib stared at him long and hard, and Dom stared right back. 

And they stayed that way for a while. Maybe Zib was just too drunk to look somewhere else, and maybe Dom was too interested to see what he would do next, but for a moment, they sat in silence. And for a moment, it was interesting. He knew for certain that if he spoke, it would break whatever spell had settled between them, but he also wanted nothing more than to say something, even if that something lacked any substance. The weight of Zib leaning against him felt good, comfortable even. He was warm for someone who’d been sitting out in the cold. 

Finally, Zib broke the silence. “Why’re you here, flattie?” 

“Mind the attitude.” Dom said, tilting his head back against the cool bricks behind them. “I didn’t have the best focus tonight for work. I was bored, so I figured I’d venture a looksee at this forgotten, old club a drunk saxophonist once inadvertently reminded me about.” 

"Well, you at least have a good time at the deadest joint in town?” 

“Not as much as I thought I would. Turns out that saxophonist doesn’t have very good taste.” Upon seeing Zib’s eyes narrow, Dom smirked, pulling a cigarette from his chest pocket and lighting it with a chuckle. “His voice isn’t half bad though.” 

The exhaustion that came in tandem with inebriation was starting to wash over Zib judging from how he let his head drop against Dom’s shoulder. Dom tried very hard to ignore the way the closeness made his fur stand on end, taking another drag of his smoke and paying very close attention to the smoldering tip instead of the weight on his shoulder. The tobacco was nowhere near as satisfying as what he usually put in his pipe. As if reading his mind, Zib got a little closer and gave a small sigh as he took the cigarette, taking a slow drag from it. 

“You’re not here because you’re bored.” Zib mumbled, smoke billowing lazily from his nose. “I may be pretty but there’s a brain under all this radiance.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dorian.” Dom teased, taking the smoke back. “Lately you’ve made some impressively stupid decisions.” 

“Ah, so you agree that I’m pretty.” 

There was a spark, and not from the cigarette between them. It was almost startling, how quickly it ignited in such silly circumstance. Zib raised an eyebrow, yellow gaze staying narrowing as he studied Dom, seemingly daring him to retort. Dom paused as he searched his unusually blank mind for something to say, anything to say that would trip Zib up the same way he’d just been. He couldn’t outright lie. Even drunk, Zib was too clever to be deceived. The silence grew awkward, Dom knew they’d been staring at each other for far too long. It was so awkward it was funny. 

Dom laughed, almost choking on the next drag he took. He coughed into his arm, taking the opportunity to disentangle himself from the drunk musician. It was time to go, before they became too puckish for their own good. “You certainly make my job more interesting.” 

He got to his feet, flicking the cigarette away and offered a paw to Zib, who took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, swaying dangerously before steadying against the wall. Dom pretended he didn’t like the way Zib’s grip on him tightened in the moment it took him to regain his balance, and he pretended even more he wasn’t bothered to put some distance between them. 

“I think it’s time we call it a night.” 

“Just as well. I think I’m actually going to hurl for real now. 

He knew that Zib would be fine if he left him in the alley, but he was certain to call a halfhearted reminder to the band members still on stage. He wasn’t sure if they could hear him, or if they even cared enough to check. The bass player was still asleep, and the trumpet player had pulled his hat over his eyes and was muttering to no one in particular about nothing that mattered. The pianist was still plucking out Stardust, humming along quietly under the snores or drunken mumbles of his bandmates. His voice was pleasant, but Dom already found himself missing the warmth that Zib’s song had sent coursing through him. 

He made a note to perhaps start getting bored more often


End file.
